


cut the frappe

by hananapeel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hananapeel/pseuds/hananapeel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>iwaizumi and oikawa are locked in a broom closet by a naughty barista</p>
            </blockquote>





	cut the frappe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jsunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsunny/gifts).



> im sorry about the title but i thought of it in the shower and laughed silently for five minutes
> 
> this is based off the extra in [jsunny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jsunny)'s kurodai college/coffee shop [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3699704)!! if u havent already, u should stop here, read it, and come back, a) for context on why iwachan and oikawa are locked in a broom closet, and b) because it is REALLY GOOD and youll love it, 10293821% satisfaction guaranteed
> 
> for day 3 of [haikyuu au week](http://haikyuuauweek.tumblr.com): college/post-graduation. shh im not late

If he could have, Iwaizumi would have avoided the messy whirlwind that was Oikawa Tooru at all costs. But really, he was everywhere: in the same year and in the same sports medicine program, on the same club volleyball team on the weekends, frequenting the same coffee shop, Ready Set Joe, just off campus. It started off as a few awkward hellos as they passed each other after yet another lecture and subtle benching competitions at the gym, but soon progressed into slapping backs and mussing hair after a nice point and sharing the same chewed pencils during class. It was only a matter of time before Oikawa was fully integrated into his life, and really, that time wasn’t long at all.

 

Already his friends had welcomed him with open arms; Akaashi gave him a job at the Ready Set Joe the day he met him and Suga’s already introduced him to his favorite cats at the hospital. If Iwaizumi was being honest with himself, Oikawa fit in extraordinarily well with his friends, an unpredictable, capricious mix of Bokuto’s playfulness, Akaashi’s intensity, Suga’s perception, Kuroo’s teasing, Kenma’s calm. He was everyone and no one at once, his own, strange, contradictory self that, somehow, still made sense. Even though Iwaizumi’s only known him for a semester, Oikawa slipped into his life easily, comfortably familiar as a childhood friend.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said suddenly, when the flow of customers slowed down after the lunch rush and he had time to clean the machines. “If I were a type of coffee, what would I be, do you think?”

 

Sitting on the counter before Oikawa, Iwaizumi looked up from his anatomy textbook. “Hah? What kind of dumb question is that?”

 

“Mean! It’s just because Cosmo says that if I were a drink I would be a fun and flirty margarita, but since I drink more coffee than alcohol, I want to know my true representative beverage!”

 

“Um…” Iwaizumi scratched the back of his neck and tried to read while answering. Really, dealing with Oikawa could be such a handful sometimes, and a drag on his grades, too. B cells, helper T cells…“You’d be… um…” Cytotoxic T cells, natural killer cells… “You’d be coffee?”

 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa threw the rag at him, hitting his forehead with a wet smack. “Pay attention!”

 

“Jesus.” Iwaizumi wiped his forehead with his sleeve and threw the rag back. It hit Oikawa’s shoulder and flopped lifelessly on the ground. “Aren’t you worried about the immune system test tomorrow?”

 

“Studied already,” Oikawa said lightly, and started wiping the machines again. “Stop trying to change the subject and give a good answer.”

 

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, knowing that Oikawa wouldn’t give it a rest until he thought of an acceptable answer. He leaned his cheek into his hand and glanced at Oikawa, with his expectant eyes and windblown hair. Oikawa, wild, uncontrollable Oikawa, who felt too deeply and loved too deeply. Oikawa of the brightest laughs and most heartbroken sobs, the Oikawa who had shown him both. Oikawa… his best friend, somehow. Would he be the frothy lather of a mild latte, or the rich intensity of espresso? Was he the sweet childishness of a cotton candy frappuchino, or the lonely bitterness of plain black coffee?

 

“I think you would be water,” he said finally, and grinned at Oikawa’s affronted expression. “No, no, hear me out. You’re clear and easy, adaptable to anything. You make anything that’s added to you shine.”

 

Silence stretched out long and thin like taffy, and Iwaizumi realized how sappy he sounded as Oikawa stared at him with round, wide eyes. Blood creeped prickly up his neck as he tried to break eye contact, but couldn’t; he was trapped in Oikawa’s intense, searching gaze. The air seemed laden with some meaning, so heavily that Iwaizumi felt suffocated. What was Oikawa thinking? How did he think of him? Wait, how did Iwaizumi think of Oikawa? Damn it, why had Iwaizumi said that stupid water thing without thinking? Probably got too caught up in the poetic sound of it all for any semblance of self-awareness.

 

“Iwa...chan...” Oikawa’s hand, still clutching the rag, dropped down to the counter, and Iwaizumi flushed with sudden awareness. He wouldn’t mind... waking up to Oikawa saying his name like that. He wouldn’t mind it whispered against his lips or pressed into his skin. He imagined his name sliding across his skin in a rush of hot breath and–

 

No! Jesus, what was he thinking? This was Oikawa Tooru he was fantasizing about, snotty-nosed Oikawa, whose cutesy pretenses made Iwaizumi want to barf, whose lingering childhood obsession with aliens was slightly ridiculous, who did _not_ look hot at all in his glow-in-the-dark alien boxers. At _all_. Not even remotely. A thousand miles away from hotness. No– not miles– light years.

 

Suddenly, Oikawa laughed, bright and brittle as glass. “Iwa-chan, I didn’t know you were such a poet! Should I call you Shakespeare-chan instead? Prithee thee, sire!”

 

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi snarled, and the mood was broken. They slid back into the comfort of hurled rags and arguments about the best flavor of popsicle with relief. Yet, beneath it all, Iwaizumi tentatively nursed a new and unfamiliar discovery. Oikawa might be like water in another way: he might just be necessary for Iwaizumi to live.

 

\--

 

It’s been about half an hour since Suga locked them in the Ready Set Joe broom closet. Iwaizumi didn’t know exactly how long, since Kenma even had the foresight to take their phones before shoving them into this musty and cramped room. The edge of a shelf dug into his spine as he pressed back to avoid resting his knee against Oikawa’s.

 

Oikawa cleared his throat awkwardly for the (sixth? seventh?) time. “I would like to apologize again, Iwaizumi-san,” unfamiliarly formal after months of Iwa-chans and uncalled-for peace signs.

 

“I already said it was okay, didn’t I?” Iwaizumi sighed. Maybe he would try to catch some sleep now and study through the night when he got home, whenever that would be.

 

“I don’t know why Suga– ! And Kenma– ! I’m so sorry! This room is so small… or maybe you’re just too big, Iwa-chan!” A high, fake laugh. “This is so embarrassing… The only other time I’ve been this embarrassed was when I was little and I peed in the pool and everyone had to get out… or maybe the time when…”

 

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and leaned his head back against a box on the shelf. He tried to ride the waves to sleep—peaceful, easy sleep—where he was not fighting strange and confusing feelings for the boy sitting in this same, cramped room. But every time he tried, Oikawa’s voice pierced through his closed eyelids like rays of sunshine, and he opened his eyes to Oikawa, shining, beautiful Oikawa. Iwaizumi dug blunt fingernails into his palms and tried to control the erratic pace of his breathing, tried to ignore the pout of Oikawa’s moving lips and the heat of his body, which sat close—too close—to Iwaizumi. Tried to avoid looking into the bright nervousness of his eyes, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the messiness of wavy hair from the lost scuffle against Suga half an hour ago. But Oikawa—like always, he was just too much, too large, his presence taking up the entire room until Iwaizumi was drowning in it. He was everywhere, unavoidable, impossible to ignore, no matter how hard Iwaizumi tried. How hard he’s tried for the whole time he’s known him. Maybe it would be easier to just... give in...

 

Oikawa was still blabbering nervously and Iwaizumi watched himself reach for him in slow motion, finally grasping Oikawa’s warm, corded wrist. Oikawa shut up, finally. The tiny closet was suddenly too quiet in the absence of Oikawa’s voice, but it was in this silence that Iwaizumi finally leaned in and pressed his lips against Oikawa’s. It was this silence that was broken when Oikawa licked into his mouth and Iwaizumi moaned; it was this silence that they filled instead with the wet sweeps of tongue and cappuccino-sweet exchanges of breath, the rustle of fabric as hands slipped beneath shirts and slick pop as lips were sucked between teeth. And now the noise—heady and thick, charged with feelings and desires left unspoken, breathless air and sweaty palms.

 

They pulled apart just barely for shallow breaths of air, noses still close enough to brush. “I could drink you up,” Iwaizumi growled, lips tingling and mind hazy with pleasure, and then watched in horrified embarrassment as Oikawa huffed out amused, unexpected laughter. “Like a glass of water?” he snorted, his laughs puffing hot and moist against Iwaizumi’s mouth.

 

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi said lamely, and pulled Oikawa in for another kiss to hide his embarrassment. He could feel his smile taut under his lips, and blushed even redder. Leave it to Oikawa to laugh when he was trying his most to be sexy, and in revenge he wrapped his arms tighter around Oikawa’s waist and kissed him more forcefully, until Oikawa’s fingers curled warmly around his neck and that irritating smile relaxed, melting back into smooth, wet heat and playful, soft tongue.

 

“Hajime,” Oikawa panted, and Iwaizumi’s name sounded as sweet as the mouth it was spoken from. “Hajime, I—“ He was cut off by Iwaizumi’s insistent lips, pressing again and again on Oikawa’s own. “Hajime, I—no stop—listen, I like you! I really, really, really like you, and I was too scared to say anything for forever, but I like you. A lot. A lot a lot a—“

 

“Shut up and kiss me again, you idiot,” Iwaizumi laughed, and drank him right up.

**Author's Note:**

> i cant stop writing lame kisses help
> 
> pls leave feedback in the comments i would love to hear what your thoughts and improve based on them!!!! and find me on tumblr [here](http://hananapeel.tumblr.com)


End file.
